Where the Wild Things Are
by Demon
Summary: A story that was started way back when and has thus diverged hopelessly from the show storyline. Tristan and Rory are paired for a rather unlikely project. Sparks ensue.
1. Default Chapter

Well. Some of you may remember this story from months back, and I'm sorry to say that I have yet to update past part two. I'm suffering from a monumental case of writer's block, and while I know where I'm going with this fic, I'm having trouble actually getting there. I'm hoping that having this story posted in a new place with new readers will motivate me to get going on the actual writing. Part three is *gasp* mostly done, so as soon as I stop procrastinating it'll be up ( read: anywhere from a week to a month. ) So enjoy, and feel free to drop me a line if you have suggestions or comments. Note – this takes place right after the Break-up: Part 2 ( Yeah, drag those minds waaaaay back to Season 1, guys. It's a long trip.) For the purposes of this fic, nothing beyond Break-up has happened.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Rory Gilmore spun the combination of her lock, and yanked. Nothing. She scowled, and flipped the numbers again. This time, the lock opened, but when she tried the locker it stuck. Rory sighed in frustration. Experience had taught her not to yank too hard on the lockers. The results tended toward the disastrous. Now, she had to find a janitor to open her locker for her, which meant that she would waste her free period. Fabulous.  
  
A hand slid past her shoulder and thumped her locker twice. It creaked open, much to her delight. Rory spun around, a grateful smile on her lips, which quickly faded when she caught sight of her momentary savior. She quickly dropped her gaze, flushing. Tristan Dugray leaned against the locker next to hers, no trace of his signature smirk on his lips.  
  
"Why are you avoiding me?" Rory pulled a textbook from her locker and slammed it shut.  
  
"I'm not avoiding you." She started down the hall, Tristan keeping pace easily at her side.  
  
"Really."  
  
"That's what I said." Tristan caught hold of her shoulder, effectively stopping her.  
  
"Rory, come on. We've had three classes together. And at the end of each one, you've just happened to slip out before I could talk to you. That's called avoidance." Rory met his eyes reluctantly.  
  
"I'm sorry." Tristan dropped his hand from her shoulder.  
  
"We need to talk, Rory." She nodded.  
  
"Okay. Do you want to go to the library? I have a free period."  
  
"Yeah. Sure." They walked quickly to the library in awkward silence. Tristan pushed the door open and held it as Rory followed him in, heading straight for the biography section. She immediately began scanning the shelves.  
  
  
  
"What are you looking for?" Tristan asked over her shoulder. Rory answered without taking her eyes from the shelves.  
  
"A biography on James Joyce. I need it for American Lit." Tristan nodded and began browsing through the rack next to her. After a few minutes, Rory emerged triumphant with not one but two books.  
  
"The Portable Dorothy Parker." Tristan examined the second book. "Good choice." Rory glanced at him in surprise.  
  
"You've read it?"  
  
"Yeah. I like the New Yorker." Rory nodded.  
  
"Me too. We had a subscription, but I think it died a lingering death a few years ago." Their eyes locked for a moment.  
  
"Rory."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We still need to talk." Rory broke the gaze.  
  
"I know." She sank down into a big wooden armchair. Tristan half- sat, half-leaned on the table in front of her, hands in his pockets. "Don't you need to get a biography for American Lit. too?" She avoided looking at him.  
  
"Rory."  
  
" 'Cause if you do, you should get it now before all the good authors are gone."  
  
"Rory, come on." Tristan reached out and took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. There was a shimmer of something in her large blue eyes. Their gazes locked for a moment before Rory pulled away.  
  
"It was a mistake, Tristan. It never should have happened." Tristan released his breath.  
  
"Right. It was a rebound thing. You had just broken up with Dean, I had just broken up with Summer-" Rory nodded.  
  
"Exactly. Rebound. It didn't mean anything."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Okay." Tristan ran a hand through his spiky, tousled blonde hair.  
  
"Rory, I really am sorry I've been a jerk to you." Rory shrugged.  
  
"It's ok. Just don't make it a habit." Tristan laughed softly.  
  
"I won't." He watched her out of the corner of his eyes. She was sitting like a little kid, knees together but feet apart, tips of her shoes pointed in. She was leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, long, silky dark hair swinging forward from barrettes to brush her cheeks. He wondered if it was unconscious, or if she did it on purpose to hide her face. He was startled out of his reverie by Rory's voice.  
  
"Tristan?"  
  
"Yeah?" She swallowed.  
  
"Can we be friends?" The question made Tristan's heart ache. He managed to control his euphoria and smile at her. A real smile.  
  
"We can if you want us to." Pain flashed in her eyes, so briefly he thought he'd imagined it. Her voice, when she answered, was low.  
  
"I do." Tristan nodded.  
  
"Then we are."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"No!" Lorelai Gilmore dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and leaned forward, wide-eyed.  
  
"Yes." Rory smiled, amused. Lorelai's jaw dropped.  
  
"Amazing. Did he hypnotize you?" Rory gave her a look.  
  
"We've reached an understanding." Lorelai leaned in again.  
  
"Really! Tell me more. Was there kicking and biting involved?" Rory grinned triumphantly.  
  
"Nope. Just two civilized people having a logical conversation." Lorelai sat back and shook her head in admiration.  
  
"You have got to teach me to do that sometime."  
  
"Remind me next weekend." Lorelai nodded.  
  
"I'll put it on the calendar." There was a brief silence as Lorelai sorted mail and Rory set the timer for the oven pizza. It was movie night again, although this time the movie selection was Dirty Dancing, with Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. Lorelai played around with various papers for a few minutes, throwing glances toward an oblivious Rory. Finally she set down the papers with a sigh and stood up, going to look over Rory's shoulder at the pizza.  
  
"This doesn't have anything to do with Dean, does it?" Rory looked up.  
  
"How would becoming friends with Tristan have anything to do with Dean?" Lorelai shrugged and picked up a pixie stick from the large bag of junk food on the table and began using it to gesticulate.  
  
"I don't know. If you were getting to know Tristan to rebound off Dean. If this is another ill-fated attempt to not wallow. If you're doing it to make Dean jealous." Rory's eyes were on the pixie stick as it dropped and weaved frantically through the air with Lorelai's airy hand gestures. At the last suggestion, her head snapped up.  
  
"Mom, I wouldn't do that to Tristan. This has nothing to do with Dean, ok? We're just friends. Nothing else." Lorelai studied her for a moment, then let the matter drop.  
  
"Allright. If you're sure you don't want to talk." Rory nodded. Lorelai rubbed her hands together. "Okay! You get the pizza, I'll get the sugar, let's get moving here. Hustle!" The two women hurried through the kitchen, throwing themselves onto the sofa armed with pounds of junk food. For several minutes the only sounds to be heard were the crunching of two mouths and the dialogue from the movie.  
  
"Hey, does Kelly Bishop ever remind you of Grandma?" Lorelai blinked, sat up and peered closely at the screen, the turned to Rory.  
  
"You know, she really does. Huh. My mother looks like someone in Dirty Dancing. Who would have thought." Rory shrugged and went back to watching the movie.  
  
"Anything can happen."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"All right class, we will be starting a new unit today. Now that we've finished the anatomy of the brain, we will begin on the many ways the brain is influenced." Ms. Richter surveyed her tenth grade Psychology class. Most of them were only half-awake, as Psychology was first period. She could see several only half open eyes, and a few rather severe cases of bed-head. "I can see you're all terribly excited. In the light of the Head- Master's recent request that I organize the class around a hands-on experience for you, I have taken the liberty to devise a project . Over the space of the next two days-" There was a simultaneous groan from the entire class. "Yes, I realize it's the weekend. You will each visit the home of one of your classmates for twenty-four hours. Then, you will switch, and your partner will visit your home for twenty-four hours. After the project, you will each give a presentation on how your partner has been influenced by his or her home life.  
  
"Seeing how this project imposes upon your parents to house another student for a day and night, I will require each of you to bring in a permission slip. In addition, Lorelai Gilmore and Tristan Dugray, each of you must have one of your parents call me to affirm that they approve of the project, as the two of you are the only male/female pair. The rest of the pairs are same sex as follows: Madeline DeFacchi and Louise Montgomery, Jonathan Winterbrough and Todd Willams..."  
  
Rory Gilmore sat in shock. I could've sworn she just said Lorelai Gilmore and Tristan Dugray. But that's impossible. It....it just.... She looked across the room and her cheeks flamed when she met Tristan's eyes.  
  
"You will now meet with your partner to begin work on the questionnaire I have designed for you. It is to be turned in on Monday when you give your presentation. You will work on the assumption that your parents will agree to this, so start deciding whose home to visit first, et cetera. You have the rest of the period." Immediately, the class erupted in chatter as Ms. Richter passed out the questionnaires and people began pairing up. Rory took a breath and risked a glanced at Tristan.  
  
He was walking toward her, not quite achieving his usual look of detached mockery. He sat down next to her and offered her a shaky smirk.  
  
"Some class, huh." She noticed his cheeks were flushed, also.  
  
"Yeah. Some class." Tristan broke the semi-awkward silence by pulling two sheets of paper out of his bookbag.  
  
"Ms. Richter gave me the questionnaires. We can get started on them now and then finish up over the weekend."  
  
"Okay. Okay, let's do that." Rory nodded determinedly and took the paper Tristan held out. She scanned the rows of questions. "Wow. Some of these are really personal." Tristan looked at his sheet.  
  
"You can say that again. Uh, Okay. Question number one. Who do you look up to, and why?" He looked up at Rory and saw her small smile.  
  
"That's an easy one. My mother. She's spent the last sixteen years fighting so that I get every opportunity. She's built an amazing life out of a bad situation, and sacrificed so much so that I have the best possible life. She's my hero. Or heroine, I guess." She stopped to look at Tristan. He looked surprised, and a little wistful. "What?" He blinked.  
  
"Nothing. You just seem to have a really great relationship with your Mom." Rory nodded.  
  
"She's my everything."  
  
"You're lucky." Their eyes locked over the paper for a few seconds until Rory cleared her throat and looked down at her paper.  
  
"How about you? Who's your role model?" Tristan shrugged.  
  
"I never really thought about it. There are so many influential people." Rory leaned her chin on her hand and watched him think. "My grandfather."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. He writes a lot. When I was a little kid, he used to read me a lot of his stories. He was my only relative who ever did anything with me because he wanted to, not because he had to." Tristan looked up and met Rory's eyes. There was a strange look on her face.  
  
"What?" Rory blinked and looked down.  
  
"Nothing. I think I need to re-evaluate my opinion of you." Tristan looked at her warily.  
  
"Is that good or bad?" Rory shrugged.  
  
"I haven't decided yet. I'll let you know when I figure it out, though." Tristan nodded.  
  
"I'd appreciate that. Thanks." Their eyes met, and they both smiled. The bell rang, and they both stood up. " So, do you want to start at my house or yours?"  
  
"I really don't care. Whichever."  
  
"Can we start at yours? I'll come over in the morning, and then we can move on to my house Sunday morning."  
  
"Cool." Rory smiled. Oddly, the first session hadn't gone too badly. Then they both reached for the doorknob at the same time. Their hands brushed, and they both jumped back. Tristan gave her a look she couldn't decipher.  
  
"This is going to be a hell of a weekend."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Tristan."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"That's wrong."  
  
"At least I don't hate him anymore."  
  
"The girl has a point."  
  
"I'm gonna go read."  
  
"So you're cool with this."  
  
"Totally."  
  
"Okay." Rory got up and went into the living room, holding her breath and counting mentally. Before she got to twelve, Lorelai had followed her in out of the kitchen. She plopped down on the couch beside her daughter.  
  
"Okay, now that we're done with the obligatory 'Honey-are-you-ok-yes- mom-I'm-fine,' how are you really feeling?" Rory tucked one leg beneath her and turned to look at her mom. She twirled a strand of long, straight dark hair around her fingers.  
  
"I'm not sure, exactly. I feel...weird. I'm so used to hating him, and them when we actually sit down and talk, it feels strange." Lorelai sighed, and brushed a strand of hair away from Rory's face.  
  
"It's going to feel weird. You guys became friends under the most awkward of circumstances. I mean, you made the leap from detestable jerk to potential friend in the space of a week and a kiss, Rory."  
  
"True. But hey, I like a challenge, right?"  
  
"Hey, if we're done with the heart-to-heart, I've got a really cool challenge."  
  
"Really? Does it involve finding the phone book to call for pizza? 'Cause I'm hungry."  
  
"Ahh, you read my mind. You get a ten point bonus if you find the phone so we can order."  
  
"Once we find the number." Lorelai threw up her hands in amazement.  
  
"What a smart child."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Tristan Dugray turned onto the road to Stars Hollow in a good mood. The shade of the trees was a novelty not often experienced in his part of the neighborhood, where every tree that might approximate shade-worthy height was chopped down for fear of creating a suburban appearance. Tristan smiled grimly. His mother said the word suburb like it was a curse. Both his parents were dying to live in a big city, and be recognized as fashionable, modern additions to society. He personally thought it was a load of shit. Tristan liked Connecticut just fine, which seemed to be a fluke in the family.  
  
Coming out of his reverie, Tristan made a left onto what appeared to be the main street of Stars Hollow. He checked the scrap of paper with Rory's address on it for the fifth time, even though he'd already memorized it. Right onto Peach Street, down the block, make a left, it's the white house with the porch. He stopped the car in front and just sat for a moment, gathering his nerves. Opening the door, Tristan stepped out of the car and slowly made his way up the lawn, unconsciously admiring the rambling house with its flowers and large trees and general relaxing feeling. As soon as he knocked, he heard feet walking to the door and tensed.  
  
The door to the Gilmore residence opened onto the smiling face of the senior Lorelai Gilmore. She smiled brightly at Tristan's somewhat nervous expression.  
  
"Hi! You must be Tristan! I'm Lorelai. Not your Lorelai. She's Rory. I'm Mom-Lorelai. Excuse me, I haven't had my coffee yet. Rory's upstairs drying her hair. She didn't know when you'd be here, so I told her to take a shower and wow, looks like I was off by about five minutes! Would you like a donut? Your mouth is hanging open." Tristan shut his mouth and stared as Lorelai, Senior chattered happily, ushering him inside and forcibly putting him into a chair in the kitchen. He interrupted her briefly.  
  
"Uh, Ms. Gilmore?" Lorelai looked up from her coffee-machine.  
  
"It's Lorelai. If you make me feel old before my time you shall regret it." Tristan swallowed.  
  
"Lorelai it is. Where should I put my bag?" Lorelai frowned.  
  
"You'll have to ask Rory." As the words left her mouth, their subject appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, dark hair piled on top of her head with a clip so as not to dampen her white tank top and jeans. She stopped in the doorway and couldn't help but smirk slightly at the bright look on her mother's face and the terrified look on Tristan's.  
  
"Mom, what are you doing?"  
  
"Scaring your classmate." Lorelai said cheerfully.  
  
"Desist, please."  
  
"You got it. Meet you at Luke's in twenty minutes? I'll save you a muffin." Lorelai wheedled.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No prob. Nice meeting you, Tristan." She smiled sweetly and bounced out the door. Tristan looked thoroughly relieved and astonished at the same time. Rory tried not to laugh at him as she poured herself a coup of coffee.  
  
"Want some?" She gestured to the pot. Tristan blinked and looked at her.  
  
"Yeah, thanks." Rory poured another mug and set in down in front of him. She watched, amused, as he tried to erase the dazed expression from his face.  
  
"She has that affect on a lot of people." She offered. Tristan laughed slightly and shook his head.  
  
"I have never in my life met someone like that. I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck." Rory sipped her coffee and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes as the conversation dwindled and quickly became an awkward silence. "Uh, so where should I put my stuff?" Rory released her breath, glad for the break in the silence.  
  
"Just bring it into the living room. I'll set up the couch for you." She watched him for a moment, out of the corner of her eye, to see his reaction. It was disappointing. Tristan opened his mouth, then closed it, having thought better of his decision. He shouldered his bookbag and followed Rory into the living room as she spread sheets and blankets onto the sofa.  
  
"There," she said, smoothing the sheets. "That should-" The ringing of the telephone cut her off. "Don't move," she ordered Tristan. He froze, but gave her a skeptical look.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I have to find the phone. You might step on it." He nodded warily, easing himself onto the couch and out of harm's way as Rory retrieved the phone from beneath an immense stack of magazines and held it to her ear. His first fifteen minutes in the Gilmore house, and he might never be the same.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Is he there?" Rory smiled.  
  
"Hey, Lane."  
  
"Hi, Rory. Is he there?"  
  
"Yes, he's here."  
  
"Oooh, cool. When can I come over?" Rory looked at her watch.  
  
"We're going to Luke's in five minutes. Meet you there?"  
  
"Yep." Rory hung up and turned to Tristan, tossing the phone onto a chair, where it promptly sank from view beneath an enormous mass of pillows.  
  
"You know, if you actually hung it up, you might not have to do a search-and-rescue every time it rings." Tristan pointed out. Rory gave him a look.  
  
"Get your jacket. We're going to Luke's."  
  
"Luke's?" Rory nodded emphatically.  
  
"Luke makes the best coffee on the face of the Earth. I mean, if you want, you could just stay here, but you'd really be missing out." Tristan shrugged and got up.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Tristan glanced around nervously as he walked beside Rory down Main street.  
  
"I feel like everybody's staring at me." Rory laughed.  
  
"That's because they are. Stars Hollow has a very active gossip circle. That's Taylor, the bald guy watching from across the street-" she pointed, and as soon as Tristan looked Taylor was on the phone and dialing. "-see, now that he's got a description of you, he's going to call the rest of the circle to tell them that there's a tall blonde guy, about six feet tall, blue eyes, walking with Rory Gilmore, headed in the approximate direction of Luke's." Tristan stared at her.  
  
"You're serious."  
  
"Yep." He shook his head.  
  
"In my neighborhood, someone would sue you if you did that."  
  
"Why?" He shrugged.  
  
"People are really protective of their personal business." Rory nodded. They walked until the reached Luke's.  
  
"Here it is. Luke's, home of the happy coffee." Tristan looked up at the sign, confused.  
  
"Why does it say it's a hardware store?"  
  
"That's just Luke. It used to be a hardware store, but Luke never took the sign down. The town beautifying committee hates him because he says he likes it there." She pushed the door open and began sliding through the throngs of people to their usual table. Lorelai was already there, sipping a large cup of coffee and harboring three muffins on a napkin next to her mug. She smiled when she saw the two and patted the chairs across from her. Rory and Tristan sat down, careful not to touch or brush against each other. Lorelai set a muffin in front of each of them as Luke materialized by their table. He stared at Tristan.  
  
"Who're you?"  
  
"He's a classmate of mine. We have a psychology project to work on." Rory said. Luke looked at Tristan suspiciously over his order pad.  
  
"Whaddaya want?" Rory scanned the menu.  
  
"I'll have coffee and pancakes. Oh, and could you put that yummy whipped cream on top? Or was that just a 'I'm feeling sorry for Rory, so I'll give her anything she wants' kind of thing?" Luke smirked.  
  
"Don't push your luck." He glanced at Tristan. "What about you?"  
  
"Just coffee. I'll work on the muffin, too." Luke shrugged and started to walk away. Lorelai smiled sweetly.  
  
"Uh, Luke? You forgot me."  
  
"No more coffee."  
  
"Who said I want coffee?" Luke gave her a disbelieving look.  
  
"You always want coffee." Their bickering faded into the general background noise as Lorelai got up and trailed Luke into the kitchen. Rory played with a napkin as Tristan ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. Rory was half-grateful, half-nervous to see the flashy form of Miss Patty bustling toward their table.  
  
"Rory, honey! How are you!" She didn't wait for an answer as she closed in on Tristan. "My, who is this handsome young man?" Rory hid a smile behind her muffin.  
  
"Miss Patty, this is Tristan Dugray. We're working on a project this weekend. Tristan, this is Miss Patty. She used to be a dancer, and now she teaches." Tristan nodded warily.  
  
"It's nice to meet you." Patty winked at him.  
  
"Anytime you need a lesson is how to shake your booty, you just come and see me."  
  
"Uh, sure." She patted his butt and turned to Rory, who was trying not to snort into her coffee at the color of Tristan's face.  
  
"You sure like them tall, honey! He's a cute one." Rory shook her head emphatically.  
  
"Oh, no, Miss Patty, it's not like that at all! We have to work on a Psychology project." Patty winked knowingly and bustled off. Now both Rory's and Tristan's faces were red, although only Tristan still had a look of shock painted on his.  
  
"She pinched my butt!" Rory shrugged, trying to keep a straight face.  
  
"Miss Patty's kind of the town flirt. Don't take it personally." Tristan stared at her. Lorelai bounced triumphantly back to the table, coffee mug in hand, as Rory smothered her giggles. She sat down across from them and extended a hand to Tristan.  
  
"Tristan, right? Sorry I scared you. I'm Rory's mom, Lorelai." Tristan shook her hand.  
  
"Nice to meet you. I thought he wouldn't give you any more." He nodded toward Lorelai's brimming cup. She glanced fondly at Luke's back and smiled.  
  
"Luke'll do anything if you ask right. All he needed was a little push in the right direction, and poof! Instant coffee." Rory nodded understandingly.  
  
"You sneaked behind the counter while Miss Patty distracted him, didn't you?" Lorelai mock glared at her.  
  
"Hey! That's privileged information, young lady. Not to be revealed to outside sources. But hey, speaking of outside sources..." Rory looked up in time to see Lane push open the door. She came over and dropped into the chair next to Lorelai and surveyed Tristan, who gave her his signature arrogant, charming half-smirk. He smiled when Lane appeared properly won over. Rory looked at him suspiciously. She hadn't seen the smirk in over twenty-four hours. Now Tristan seemed to be regressing.  
  
"So you're Tristan. Nice to meet you."  
  
"I think I saw you at Madeline's party. You were dancing with Henry, right?" Lane smiled.  
  
"Yeah. I must have missed you. Rory-" Lane turned to her best friend. " I can only stay for a few minutes. My mom wants me to finish my Korean school work, but I'll try and come over later, okay?" Rory nodded.  
  
"I'll come with you to the counter to order." The two girls stood up and edged out from the table, leaving Tristan looking slightly apprehensive at the idea of being alone with Lorelai. Lane smiled at Tristan over her shoulder.  
  
"It was great to meet you." Tristan smiled back.  
  
"Yeah, same." Rory glanced over her shoulder and glared at her mother, who was eyeing Tristan and lazily stirring her coffee with her spoon, a bright smile on her face.  
  
"Be good." Lorelai waved a hand at her dismissively, flashing an innocent look.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Lorelai stirred her coffee with a spoon and gazed patiently at Tristan, who returned her stare with perfect calm. Hmm. Can definitely see the blue-blood in him. Big on the self-control thing. She let a small hint of an evil smirk touch the corner of her mouth, and watched him swallow. There we go. Loosen up, kid.  
  
"So, Tristan. Have you been at Chilton long?" He nodded, glad to be on a safe topic.  
  
"Since kindergarten, actually." Lorelai looked at him sympathetically.  
  
"Wow. That's a long time at the same school." He shrugged.  
  
"It's the best school around." Lorelai nodded and deftly but subtly changed the subject.  
  
"So, Tristan. Are you planning to hit on my daughter?" Tristan choked on his coffee. Lorelai calmly handed him a napkin, waiting patiently as he wiped his mouth. His face was suddenly very pale.  
  
"Excuse me?" She put on a look of innocence.  
  
"Are you planning to hit on my daughter? Because, if you are, there are some ground rules we need to discuss." Tristan opened his mouth, but Lorelai kept going. "Nookie will be limited to rooms in which there are no doors to close. I have the utmost respect for my daughter's privacy and absolutely none for yours, thus you will sleep in plain sight on the sofa. If at any time you happen to kiss her, your hands will remain visible. If I catch them in a place where they are not visible, I will cut them off. If you hurt her, I will hunt you down and skin you." The smile was still in place. Tristan was frozen. "Any questions?" He swallowed.  
  
"Ms. Gil-uh, Lorelai-" He modified, catching Lorelai's warning look. "I think you got the wrong conception of our relationship. Rory and I have a, uh, very tentative friendship which I value highly-" along with my life "-and I have no intention of jeopardizing that friendship for any reason." Lorelai appraised him critically, pursing her lips and cocking her head to the side, gauging his sincerity.  
  
"Ok." Tristan looked relieved. He was about to say something when Rory reappeared.  
  
"Hi. Are we ready to go?" Lorelai stood, walking toward the counter.  
  
"Go ahead, you two. I'm gonna hang out here for awhile." Rory shrugged.  
  
"Okay. Come on." Tristan pushed open the door and held it as Rory passed through. Lorelai watched from the corner of her eye.  
  
Huh. Gallantry. Score one for biblical boy.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"This is weird." Rory stared up at the house she'd lived in all her life.  
  
"I know."  
  
"I feel like I'm insinuating something by letting you sleep in my house."  
  
"If you want, I could just sleep on the porch." Rory just looked at him, her head to the side, a slight smile on her face. "What?"  
  
"It's nothing. I just never pictured you making that kind of offer. You seem to kind of be a mansion-and-servants kind of guy." Tristan shrugged.  
  
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." He opened the door for her and followed her inside, really looking around the house for the first time. It was a complete mess, yet the feeling was comfortable. The large windows let in lots of light and air, which ruffled the batik-print curtains. There were magazines and textbooks strewn all over the various tables, chairs, couches. Also in evidence were the many signs of female living. There was a tank top thrown over the back of a chair, as well as several hair scrunchies twisted around the banister. He trailed Rory into the kitchen, where she was pouring a mug of coffee. Tristan watched, amused.  
  
"We just got back from the coffee place." Rory looked at him.  
  
"Your point being...?"  
  
"That you may spontaneously combust by excessive caffeine consumption." Rory shrugged.  
  
"Six years straight and no side effects." Tristan lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"Impressive."  
  
"Yeah, it is. You should see my mom, though. She's been going at it for at least fifteen years, although I wouldn't say no side effects." Lorelai walked in in time to hear her. She fixed Rory with a mock glare.  
  
"I heard that, young lady. In punishment, you have to go play somewhere else. I have to study for my test on Monday, so scoot." Rory nodded.  
  
"Okay." She turned and went into the living room, plopping down on the armchair while Tristan sat on the couch. They studied the fascinating magazines on the coffee table in silence for several minutes.  
  
"Why is your-"  
  
"Do you want to-" Tristan and Rory both flushed. She gestured.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Why is your couch facing away from the TV?" Rory blinked. Although it was a perfectly reasonable question, it brought back painful memories. She answered abruptly, before the tears could start.  
  
"Long story." Tristan nodded and, surprisingly, dropped the subject. "So, do you want to work on the questionnaire?" He gazed at her for a moment, head cocked to the side. Then he blinked, looking startled.  
  
"Oh, sure." He reached into the back pocket of his khakis and pulled out the folded paper. Rory dug hers out from under a pillow. "Okay, next question: What do you want to be when you grow up?" She looked expectantly at Tristan. "Very original question."  
  
"I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Probably something in science or business." Rory's brow furrowed, which Tristan noticed. "What?" He said, somewhat defensively.  
  
"Nothing. I just thought you'd do something in writing. You always participate a lot in English. And your essay on Romeo and Juliet was in the school magazine." Tristan smirked.  
  
"You noticed." Rory flushed, then recovered.  
  
"My grandmother gets every newsletter, newspaper, and magazine in Chilton. She recognized your name from my birthday party and told me about the essay." The smirk was still in place.  
  
"Really."  
  
"Yep." Tristan watched her amusedly, waiting until she looked up and met his eyes to look away, still smirking. He looked at the sheet.  
  
"So, what about you?" Rory shrugged.  
  
"I really don't know. I love reading and writing, so I'll probably do something in English and Literature. Maybe a freelance writer." Tristan nodded reflectively.  
  
"It suits you. Freelance writing, I mean." Rory looked at him questioningly. "It just seems to me that between the way you like to make people think, and the way you like to read, that it'd be a good choice."  
  
"You're very perceptive." Tristan smirked.  
  
"Is that a compliment?" Rory rolled her eyes.  
  
"It's a neutral observation Why do you think I like to make people think?" Tristan shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"Well, you made me think, at Madeline's party. You got me off of Summer and concentrating on something else. And I figured if you'd do it for me, you'd do it for anyone."  
  
"Smart."  
  
"Yeah." Silence. They both shifted several times before Rory stood up.  
  
"How about a grand tour? It's not a big house, but it'll stop this weird little uncomfortable silence we have going here." Tristan stood.  
  
"Sure." Rory turned and led the way to the kitchen. Tristan followed her. Rory stopped in the middle of the room and gestured.  
  
"This is the kitchen, where the Gilmore family begins every day with several cups of coffee and pop tarts on our very own collectible Charlie's Angels plates." Tristan lifted an eyebrow at the flashy utensils, but didn't say anything. Next, Rory led him through the hallway into the living room.  
  
"On your left we have a closet and a bathroom. You probably don't want to open the closet."  
  
"Why, what's in the closet?" Rory paused and cocked her head, trying to remember.  
  
"A broken lamp, a tricycle, some old baby clothes, five pillows, three blankets, and Sparky's old cage." She caught Tristan's look. "Long story. This is the living room, where we watch TV and do fun things like Twister and Yoga and poker."  
  
"You play poker?" Rory smiled.  
  
"Oh yeah, every week. Double money if you win three weeks straight." Tristan watched contentedly as Rory chattered on, her hands moving in small, graceful motions, accentuating her words.  
  
"Up the stairs is my mom's room. She'll probably kill you if you go in there, so I suggest you avoid it." Tristan laughed slightly.  
  
"Noted. Where's your room?" The pointed question made Rory bite her lip.  
  
"It's just off the kitchen. I'll show you." She led the way to the closed door of her room, moving noticeably more hesitantly than earlier. Taking a breath, she grasped the knob and pushed the door open.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Rory watched Tristan apprehensively from the corner of her eye. Even though they were on the road to becoming friends, she felt weird about showing him her room. It was her personal space, and she didn't like people she didn't know well wandering around in it.  
  
Rory stepped through the door and walked to the middle of the room, folding her arms self-consciously. Tristan stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He surveyed the room with a curious expression, his gaze finally drifting back to Rory's.  
  
"It's very you." Rory smiled.  
  
"Thanks. I think. You can come in." She said abruptly. Tristan looked at her for a moment, then shook his head.  
  
"I'm okay here." Rory lifted an eyebrow, intrigued.  
  
"Really." Tristan nodded.  
  
"Yeah, actually. A bedroom is someone's personal space. I don't want to invade that, especially since we just started this whole 'friends' thing." Rory stared at him. He'd sounded like he understood her. He'd said exactly what she'd wanted to say to Dean on movie-night. But having Dean in my room worked, sort of. He looked kind of natural. But having Tristan respect my privacy feels natural too. . . She blinked and blushed slightly when she realized that Tristan was watching her. She looked around, hoping for something to end their silence, when the phone rang. Relieved, Rory slipped past Tristan into the living room, heading for the chair when the phone had last been seen. Tristan followed.  
  
"Hello, Gilmore residence."  
  
"Good afternoon. Tell Lorelai that I require her presence here immediately." Click. Rory smiled. Michel, the concierge at the Independence Inn, managed to spend every day in a perpetually bad mood.  
  
"Mom, Michel wants you at the Inn." Rory walked into the kitchen where her mother was studying and poured herself a glass of water, offering one to Tristan, which shook his head. Lorelai looked up from her books with a dismayed expression.  
  
"I can't go now! I have to study, or I'll flunk my test! What exactly did he say?" Rory shrugged.  
  
"He said, 'Good afternoon. Tell Lorelai I require her presence immediately.' Then he hung up." Lorelai cocked her head and looked at Rory hopefully.  
  
"He said Lorelai? Not Lorelai Gilmore, the manager of the Inn? Just Lorelai. A term which could, theoretically, apply to either member of the Gilmore household?" Rory took one look at her mother's smile and began backing away, narrowly avoiding bumping into Tristan, who was watching with interest.  
  
"No. Absolutely not." Lorelai stuck out her lower lip and widened her eyes.  
  
"Come on, Rory! Just go over there and when Michel yells at you, you get to play blatant and say that since he wasn't specific, we couldn't possibly be expected to make an educated assumption as to which of us he meant."  
  
"What if it's actually something important?" Lorelai gave her a skeptical look.  
  
"The last time Michel called me at home, he insisted that it was an emergency and that I had to come immediately, so I drove all the way out there and found out that one sink was clogged in one bathroom on the third floor. The plumber was already there. And I really, really need to study." She gave Rory puppy eyes, thrusting out her lower lip and attempting a woeful stare. Then her face brightened.  
  
"And hey, you can take him with you." She gestured to Tristan. "Watch Michel chew him up and spit him out." Tristan lifted an eyebrow, paling slightly. Rory smiled, still wavering.  
  
"Well..."  
  
"I'll lend you the pink leopard print tank top with the really cool, sparkly straps." Lorelai wheedled. Rory rolled her eyes.  
  
"That's mine anyway. You stole it last week, remember?" Lorelai frowned, temporarily thrown. Then she brightened.  
  
"If you go talk to Michel, I'll give it back and I'll wash it!"  
  
"Done." Rory pulled a white cotton three-quarter sleeve button up shirt off a hook by the door and put it on over her tank top, heading out the door with Tristan on her tail. "We'll be back soon."  
  
"Thanks!" Lorelai called to their backs. She smiled to herself as she watched the two teenagers cross the yard, bickering all the way. She saw the way Rory's eyes sparkled with amusement when Tristan leaned down and whispered in her ear, and how the furious smack she planted across his chest as a result wasn't half as hard as was probably deserved. Still smirking, Lorelai bent over her work. The weekend would be interesting. 


	2. Part II

Note to readers: I will not be recapping the previous chapters as I go, so if you've forgotten the storyline, then the drop menu is your friend, and I would recommend that you take a quick look at the last chapter to refresh your memory of just what the gosh-darn-heck was going on.  
  
  
  
Tristan followed Rory across the yard to the Jeep, a slight smile touching his mouth. When she leaned down to unlock the door, he came up behind her, resting a hand on the car door on either side of her waist, so that she was trapped possessively between the car and his chest, their bodies almost touching. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear.  
  
"You own something leopard print? Gotta say, Rory, I didn't think you had it in you." Rory froze at the low, intense sound of his voice, his warm breath brushing the back of her neck, his lips a few millimeters from her ear. A tingle ran down her spine as she planted a smack across his chest with the back of her hand.  
  
"Give it up, Tristan." She caught a glimpse of his face as she turned and pushed her way out of his arms. The satisfaction at his ability to make her lose her breath was evident in his laughing eyes and the slow smile playing across his mouth.  
  
"Oh, but it's so much fun." He protested as he stepped into the passenger seat. "Watching you squirm, I mean." Rory shot him an exasperated look.  
  
"You want to watch that ego, Tristan. I'd hate to have you trapped forever in my car because your head is to big to fit out the door." She carefully kept her gaze away from him as she swung the car out of the driveway and onto the street.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"So who is this Michel?" Tristan's voice broke the quiet of the car. They were about halfway to the Inn, and thus far the ride had been silent. Rory glanced at him briefly, then returned her eyes to the road.  
  
"Michel is the concierge at the Inn where my mom works. Probably the rudest guy you'll ever meet. But lovable." Tristan lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"Lovable." Rory shrugged.  
  
"You kind of have to meet him." Tristan looked out the window, watching the scenery go by and every so often glancing out of the corner of his eye at Rory. Okay, more like every ten seconds. He couldn't help it. Here, in this atmosphere, outside of Chilton, she shone. Not that she didn't shine in school. Because she did. But anyone could see that she didn't belong there among the rich snobs and trophy-wives-to-be. Here, in her own world, was where she belonged.  
  
After about fifteen minutes, Rory made a right turn and pulled into the executive parking lot behind the Inn, with spaces only for Lorelai, Michel, Sookie, and the rest of the Inn staff. She parked and stepped onto the asphalt, shielding her eyes against the brilliant sun and waiting for Tristan to get out.  
  
The sun reflected off his blonde hair and caught the features of his face, highlighting his cheekbones and jaw. Rory couldn't help but admire the fine lines of his face. Before she could look away, Tristan turned his head and caught her. She turned quickly, but not before she saw a broad, lazy grin begin to spread across his face. Inwardly smacking herself, Rory began to walk quickly toward the double doors of the Inn. After a moment she heard Tristan quicken his pace to catch up.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"This is beautiful." Tristan stepped into the Inn's lobby and glanced around admiringly. Rory nodded.  
  
"Yeah, the interior decorater was really good. He had a weird thing for colors, though. He spent a week trying to convince us to paint the dining room purple. But once we got past that he turned out to be okay." She walked to the front desk and rested her elbows on it, cupping her chin in her hands. "Hey, Michel." The concierge glanced up from his computer.  
  
"Good afternoon. And who is this?" His tone, still customarily frosty, held the tiniest twinge of interest.  
  
"Michel, this is Tristan Dugrey, a friend from school. Tristan, this is Michel."  
  
"Nice to meet you." Tristan held out a hand, and, after a few seconds, Michel reluctantly shook it, surveying Tristan from head to foot.  
  
"And how are you today, Mr. Dugrey?" Rory leaned over and whispered in Tristan's ear.  
  
"Say something depressing. He'll love you." Tristan quirked an eyebrow at her, a mischevious grin touching his mouth and making him look exactly like a little kid about to drop a worm down the back of someone's shirt. He turned to face Michel.  
  
"I'm great, thank you. Lovely weather." Michel's face quickly rearranged itself into a frown.  
  
"How delightful," he said in a tone which signified the deepest in disappointment. "Excuse me." He picked up the phone. "Hello, Independence Inn. This is Michel speaking. No, I'm sorry, we are booked." Rory turned to Tristan as Michel argued with the would-be client.  
  
"Why didn't you say something sad? Now he hates you." Tristan shrugged.  
  
"I wanted to see what would happen." Rory smiled.  
  
"You were one of those kids who jumped off roofs to see what would happen, weren't you?" Tristan put on a mock-offended expression.  
  
"I did not jump off the roof. I jumped off the garage. I had aspirations of flight." Rory lifted an eyebrow curiously.  
  
"So how'd it go?" Tristan answered defensively.  
  
"Hey, if I'd had another ten feet, I would've at least made it to the end of the driveway. As it was, I busted my wrist and couldn't play soccer or baseball all season." Rory couldn't help it, she was smiling at the thought of a younger Tristan leaping off the garage with hopes of becoming airborne.  
  
Then Michel interrupted, putting down the phone and turning to Rory.  
  
"Where is your mother?" Tristan watched in amusement as Rory's face went blatantly confused.  
  
"My mother?" She asked innocently. "Why would my mother be here?" Michel's face took on a serious and forbidding expression.  
  
"You mean she did not come? I explicitly requested her presence." Rory leaned forward, whispering companionably to Michel.  
  
"Ah, but see, you didn't ask for her explicitly. You asked for Lorelai. So-" She flashed a brilliant smile, aware of Tristan watching her. "Here I am." Michel seemed quite unable to express his rage.  
  
"Sookie!" The plump, cheerful cook popped her head out of the kitchen. She spotted Rory.  
  
"Hi, Rory! Where's your mom?' Michel stormed out from behind the desk.  
  
"See! This is what I would like to know. Sookie, speak to her." Rory shrugged.  
  
"He asked for Lorelai." She said in explanation. Sookie's expression turned sympathetic.  
  
"She's still studying for that test, huh?"  
  
"Yep. And death to all who interrupt." She said pointedly. Michel threw up his hands, shooting glares at Tristan, Rory, Sookie, and three guests in the near vincinity.  
  
"I give up." He returned to his desk and began to talk on the phone in rapid french. Tristan caught Rory's gaze, smirking.  
  
"Lovable, huh?" Sookie's gaze swung to him.  
  
"So Rory, this is Tristan?" Tristan's jaw dropped.  
  
"How did you-" Sookie waved off his question airily.  
  
"I heard it from Jackson, who heard it from Kirk, who heard it from Patty, who heard it from Luke, who heard it from Taylor, who allegedly saw you with his own eyes, but that's only a rumour, and when it goes through Luke, Patty, Kirk, and Jackson, you never know." Tristan stared at her, mouth open.  
  
"You're not kidding, are you?" Rory provided a two-word explanation.  
  
"Gossip circle. So why did Michel want Mom?" Sookie rolled her eyes.  
  
"Small fire in the kitchen. No, no, honey I'm fine-" She said as a look of concern crossed Rory' face. "Small fire. Extremely small fire. Teeny weeney little fire. It's all taken care of now. Sorry you got dragged all the way out here." Rory smiled.  
  
"Hey, she promised to give back the leopard print top with the sparkly straps. And wash it." Sookie looked at Rory questioningly.  
  
"That's yours?" Rory threw up her hands in exasperation.  
  
"Why is everyone so surprised to hear that?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"No. Way." Rory crossed her arms and shook her head. Tristan sighed in exasperation.  
  
"Come on, Rory! It's a great movie."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I just don't want to." Tristan sighed melodramatically.  
  
"I am not backing down until you give me a good reason." Rory rolled her eyes.  
  
"Fine. Don't back down. Just stand there and be stubborn. I'll find a different one." She turned and examined a different shelf. Tristan watched her suspiciously and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You don't like scary movies, do you?" Rory turned.  
  
"I do not not like scary movies." Tristan held up four discarded boxes.  
  
"These are all good, and you shot down all of them. Because they're scary." Rory huffed.  
  
"That....that is not true. I just don't want to watch them." Tristan smirked.  
  
"Admit it, Rory. I blew your cover." Rory's eyes flashed.  
  
"Fine. I'll call my mom. If she wants to watch it, we'll get it." She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed, glaring at Tristan.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"Hey, kid. You guys done yet?"  
  
"We're having a slight problem." Tristan mouthed 'slight problem?' and lifted an eyebrow skeptically. Rory glared at him. "We can't decided which movie to get. He wants a scary one."  
  
"Oooh, that's it, death by fire."  
  
"Mom." Rory couldn't help but smile at her mother's voice.  
  
"Come on! We could make s'mores!"  
  
"Just tell him the error of his ways, please."  
  
"Okay, let me talk to him. I'll explain the strict Gilmore Movie Night code." Rory handed the phone to Tristan, smirking in triumph.  
  
"Lorelai?"  
  
"Hi there, Tristan. You remember our nookie rules? Good. Now, since you're such a quick learner, we've progressed to the Movie-Night rules." Tristan swallowed, in remembrance of the earlier discussion. He interrupted Lorelai before she could start listing the Gilmore regulations.  
  
"Uh, I do remember our other conversation, but I have a very convincing and persuasive argument for my cause." Lorelai's voice was intrigued.  
  
"Knock yourself out."  
  
"Yeah. It has-" Tristan flipped the box over and scanned the credits. "Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and Antonio Banderas." There was a long silence. Then Lorelai spoke.  
  
"I'll make the popcorn. Hurry up." Tristan closed the phone with a satisfied click, turning to smirk at Rory, who narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
"I will get you for this, Dugrey." Tristan kept smirking.  
  
"I'm sure you will." He dangled the box for the video 'Interview with a Vampire' over her head. "Now, let's go watch this movie."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"I can't believe you made me watch this." Lorelai's voice was muffled, as her face was buried in her daughter's shoulder. She peeked between her fingers and glanced at the screen, quickly hiding her face again. Rory popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth, patting the top of her mother's head absentmindedly.  
  
"Hey, no objections here. More Brad and Tom for me." Lorelai sat up slightly, glaring at her daughter.  
  
"What happened to Miss I-hate-scary-movies? This is the kid who ran out screaming from The Little Mermaid when she was six!"  
  
"Ursula was scary!" Rory said defensively.  
  
"You couldn't look at a fish for weeks without bursting into tears."  
  
"Shhh. This is a good part." Tristan said, eyes fastened to the screen. Automatically, both Rory and Lorelai stopped arguing, turning to look at the screen. A second later Lorelai hid her face in a pillow.  
  
"Oh my god, that is so sick!" Rory leaned forward, looking interested.  
  
"Is that even possible? Could someone theoretically suck someone else's blood out through their-"  
  
"That's it, I'm going to go to bed. Night kiddies." Lorelai jumped up and planted a kiss on Rory's forehead, hurrying toward the stairs. Rory called after her.  
  
"Get more of those weird, sour marshmallows before you go up." Lorelai made a quick detour into the kitchen and tossed the bag of junk food in Rory's general direction.  
  
"See you in the morning, kiddies. Don't stay up too late. And, Tristan-" He looked up apprehensively. Lorelai smirked, showing way too many teeth for Tristan's taste.  
  
"Be good." Tristan held up his hands in a gesture of innocence.  
  
"Goodnight, Lorelai." Rory watched the interacted with confusion, deciding not to pursue the subject.  
  
"Night Mom." She blew a kiss to Lorelai and turned back to the screen. Tristan looked at her sideways, slightly thrown by her obvious interest in the gory movie.  
  
"You actually like this, don't you?" Rory shrugged.  
  
"Yeah, I do. Disappointed?"  
  
"Surprised." The two of them leaned back against the couch, surprisingly comfortable in each other's presence. Rory reflected silently on the past few hours. They had walked around the grounds at the Inn and had skimmed through the easy questions in the pamphlet for school. She had discovered that Tristan's favorite color was dark blue, his favorite movie was To Kill a Mockingbird, his favorite actor was Benecio Del Toro, and he loved Mexican food. His favorite subject was English, and his favorite book was The Mosquito Coast, by Paul Theroux. His birthday was September ninth, and his favorite band was Matchbox Twenty. They'd avoided the deeper, more meaningful questions in the pamphlet. Which meant that tomorrow was going to be a lot more difficult than today. Rory sighed and settled back against the pillows. And she wasn't even going to be on her own turf.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Tristan opened his eyes sleepily. He shifted slightly, blinking as he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where the hell he was. His eyes traveled over the unfamiliar room, and then it hit him-he was at Rory's house. But they had been watching a movie...hurriedly, Tristan glanced at his watch. The small digital numbers glowed in the dark, showing that it was one-seventeen in the morning. We must have fallen asleep, he thought, instinctively looking around for Rory. A smile touched his lips when his gaze landed on her, curled in a ball on the sofa, sound asleep. Her hair falling over her delicate face, relaxed peacefully in sleep.  
  
Sitting up with a slight groan, the result of sleeping for three hours on the, while carpeted, still unforgiving Gilmore floor, Tristan climbed to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He almost tripped over his duffle bag, still lying on the floor next to the sofa. As he leaned down to pick it up, his chin brushed Rory's hair, falling over the arm rest of the sofa. Silently, he straightened, and spent a few minutes just watching her sleep. Her eyes were closed, long lashes casting shadows on her pale skin. Releasing his breath in a soft sigh, Tristan leaned over Rory to pull down the blanket draped over the back of the sofa. He unfolded it and gently spread it over Rory's small frame. She shifted slightly in sleep but otherwise remained quiet, a small, contented smile curving over her mouth. Tristan brushed her long, honey-brown hair away from her face, his fingertips lightly grazing her skin and causing him to swallow at the light contact. Quickly, he took his hands away from her face and turned away.  
  
Straightening, Tristan surveyed the room for somewhere suitable to sleep, since his designated bed was currently occupied. The chair by the window had possibilities, but on second thought he didn't think it would be beneficial to his health to be found by Lorelai asleep in the same room as her daughter. The whole town would probably know by ten o'clock, thanks to the gossip circle. I wonder if it's an official organization. With badges. Shaking his head, Tristan walked into the kitchen and resigned himself to a most likely incredibly uncomfortable night upright in a wooden chair. Since the other option is probably castration by Lorelai Gilmore and her minions, I don't have much choice. He would also probably get more sleep, he admitted silently, if he wasn't lying fifteen feet away from Rory Gilmore. Falling into a chair, Tristan pulled his t-shirt over his head and stuffed it into his bag, settingly for a night in a wife beater and jeans. Folding his arms on the table, he put his head in them and was almost instantly asleep.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Lorelai Gilmore padded softly down the stairs early Sunday morning. Too early, she thought fuzzily. Damn alarmclock. Purred an hour too soon. Trying not to trip over her long, cotten pajama pants and ratty bathrobe, Lorelai glanced into the livingroom on her way through to the kitchen and was indignant to see, by the first rays of dawn peeking through the window, her daughter, curled up on the sofa and covered in a blanket. Why that little-! Lorelai padded furiously over to the sofa, opening her mouth to yell, and closing it when she realized that Rory was alone on the sofa. Tristan's bag was also missing from the floor. Lorelai surveyed the rest of the room. No Tristan. Curious, Lorelai tip-toed into the kitchen.  
  
She folded her arms and smiled in spite of herself when she saw Tristan asleep at the kitchen table, his golden, messily spiked head resting on tanned arms. He looks so much younger asleep, Lorelai reflected absently. Silently, she padded around him and began to make coffee. At the sound of opening cabinets and bubbling liquid, Tristan's golden lashes flickered, slowly opening on sleepy, charcoal blue eyes. Lorelai sat down opposite him, sipping a cup of coffee as Tristan blinked several times and slowly sat up with a barely audible groan, touching the back of his neck. Lorelai watched him over the brim of her coffee mug.  
  
"Yeah, that's what happens when you spend a night at the kitchen table, in the most uncomfortable sleeping position known to man. I know. I've done it." She waited for his still half-closed eyes to focus on her. Then she smiled sweetly. "Morning, Tristan." The smile turned to a smirk as she watched him open and close his mouth, unable to form a sentence. Finally-  
  
"I need coffee." Lorelai smiled and patted his head.  
  
"Thatsa boy." She placed a full mug in front of him. "So, tell me Tristan, how is it that you wound up asleep at my kitchen table while my daughter sleeps in your designated bed?" Tristan swallowed his sip of coffee quickly. He watched Lorelai carefully as he spoke, ready to retreat at the sight of a sharp object.  
  
"I think we fell asleep watching the movie. I, uh, woke up at about a quarter after one and Rory was asleep on the couch. I didn't want to wake her up, so I left her there and came to sleep in here-" Lorelai nodded.  
  
"In, I repeat, the most uncomfortable position known to man." She surveyed Tristan carefully, eyes narrowed. He swallowed nervously.  
  
"No nookie, swear to God." Lorelai smirked at his expression in spite of herself.  
  
"It was nice of you to sleep in here. A lot of guys wouldn't have done that." Tristan shrugged, replying without thinking.  
  
"It was more of an act of self-preservation." Lorelai smiled.  
  
"Darn straight. I could sic Luke on you. Or Morey. Oooh! Or Kirk. Kirk would be fun. Although he may not be up to it, seeing as you don't have floppy hair-" She paused, noticing that Tristan was looking at her very strangely. "Sorry."  
  
"No, no. Go ahead. Laugh at my misery. I don't mind."  
  
"Thank you. More coffee?'  
  
"Yeah, thanks." Lorelai refilled his cup and resumed her seat opposite him. When she spoke, her tone had changed from amused to serious and slightly hesistant.  
  
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" Tristan looked up sharply. He examined Lorelai's face for any indication of her intentions, but her expression showed nothing. Warily, he shrugged.  
  
"Ask away." Lorelai looked down into her coffee mug, and then back up into the face of the young man seated opposite her.  
  
"How long have you been in love with Rory?" The effect was as if someone had thrown a door closed over Tristan's face and slammed the bolts home. His expression was closed and carefully controlled. For several minutes, the two stared at each other. Tristan's mind was racing skittishly from one thought to another, though his face showed nothing.  
  
  
  
Ohgodshe'sgoingtokillmehowcouldshetell?wasitreallythatobvious?Iamsodead- In a way it was easier than if she'd simply asked him if he was in love with Rory. To that he would almost certainly have said that no, he was not in love with Rory, that he was merely a friend. But to have the secret he had kept even from himself for months spoken openly across a room, flowing from the lips of one to the ears and heart of another produced vast sense of relief. Lorelai wasn't asking him to deny or confirm anything. She had done for him. His words were whispered, but still audible in the silent room.  
  
"From the moment I saw her." He looked up and met Lorelai's eyes. "From the instant I walked into class late and I saw her sitting in the front row with her hair tucked behind her ears. I was in love with her before I could blink." His voice fell into silence as he wonderingly contemplated what he had just admitted. "I never even had a chance."  
  
Lorelai laughed.  
  
"She's a Gilmore. A Lorelai Gilmore, for that matter. One of the few. What did you expect?"  
  
"I didn't expect to be won over so effortlessly." Lorelai smiled.  
  
"Well, if you're going to be hanging out here, you better get used to it, pally. And if you think we're bad, wait until you meet my mother." Tristan smiled, looking hesistantly across the table at Lorelai. His voice was light and slightly embarrassed.  
  
"How did you know? I mean, not that it's really important, but it kind of bothers me to think that my actions are so easily read. Particularly by someone who's only known me for about twenty-four hours. " Lorelai shrugged.  
  
"It's my psychic ability. Runs in the family." Tristan looked skeptical. Lorelai sighed melodramatically. "Look, Tristan, I know that you're the big man on campus. Golden boy, heir to the empire, ladies man, most skillful player in the game. It practically oozes from your pores. Which, I hate to say, was your undoing." Tristan lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"My undoing?" Lorelai waved her hands, impatient to get back to the explanation.  
  
"Your undoing. Your downfall. The straw that broke the camel's back. Et cetera. Now, Mr. Skeptical, may I continue?" Tristan motioned for her to go on, lifting his hands in a gesture of mock-innocence. "You know the expression, 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall?'"  
  
"I'm only six feet tall." Lorelai glared at him.  
  
"Are you going to keep doing that? I'm trying to be metaphorical here."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"The point is, you're not used to developing emotions toward people. You've filled your life with shallow friendship and meaningless relationships. Make-believe. You're so used to being shallow that the first time that you feel something real, it shows in your every touch, your every glance. It may as well bee written across your forehead." Tristan was silent for a minute, thinking about Lorelai's words.  
  
"So can I ask you a qustion now? You know, payback, and all that?" Lorelai shrugged.  
  
"Fire away."  
  
"Why are you living in Stars Hollow? Why didn't you inherit the Gilmore Estate?" He watched her face carefully as he asked. Lorelai smiled ironically.  
  
"My parents disowned me after I refused to abort Rory or at least marry Christopher. I don't think I would have wanted it anyway."  
  
"Why not?" Lorelai sighed, eyes distant, drifting in the past.  
  
"Too many memories. No air. No room to become anything more than Lorelai Gilmore, heir to the Gilmore fortune, owner of everything a little girl could want." Tristan contemplated her words. They hit a little too close to home for comfort. Tristran changed the subject.  
  
"You know what you said earlier? About my emotions being written on my forehead?" Lorelai nodded. Tristan swallowed. "If it's so obvious, why hasn't Rory seen it?" Lorelai smiled.  
  
"My daughter, while she is the joy of my life, is completely blind when it comes to herself. Sucks for you."  
  
"Thanks for your compassion." Lorelai shrugged.  
  
"No problem." Tristan stared into his coffee cup for a few minutes, and when he spoke again, his voice was very hesistant.  
  
"Lorelai?" She looked at him.  
  
"Thanks for your compassion." This time, the words spoken so sarcastically a few minutes before held a note of sincerity and shy gratitude. The words of a boy who didn't quite know how to express his appreciation. Lorelai smiled softly.  
  
"No problem." She paused for a moment, debating whether or not to ask one more question. "Tristan?"  
  
"Yeah?" Lorelai grinned, eyes sparkling.  
  
"Do you have a motorcycle?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"You realize that Rory is going to be completely mortified when she wakes up, right?" Tristan looked up from his pop tart. They had been chatting now for over an hour, waiting for Rory to wake up.  
  
"So if I have any big favors to ask her, now's the time, huh?" Lorelai shrugged.  
  
"Yeah, big favors, ugly confessions, et cetera. I'll bet you five bucks that the first words out of her mouth when she comes in here are 'I'm so embarrassed.'" Tristan narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You're on." They shook on it and went back to their pop tarts.  
  
"I need your phone number and address, in case there's any big emergency like I get kidnapped or hijacked or trampled by an elephant or coffee prices rise." Lorelai pushed a scrap of paper and pen across to Tristan, who lifted an eyebrow as he wrote down his cell phone number.  
  
"You think the elephant will let you make a phone call?" Lorelai stood up and put her dishes in the sink.  
  
"Oooh, funny, funny boy." They both looked up at the sound of bare feet coming down the hall. Rory stood in the doorway, sleepy-eyed, tousle- haired, and looking confused. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty." Rory scowled at her mother, dropping into a chair at the table.  
  
"Okay, someone clue me in. I wake up on the sofa, still wearing what I wore yesterday, come in here, and not only find my mother awake before nine o'clock on a Sunday, which would be apocalyptic by itself, but find her chatting with the guy who was supposed to be sleeping on the sofa." Tristan lifted an eyebrow at Lorelai. Scowling, she left the room and reappeared a few moments later, sliding a five dollar bill across the table to Tristan, who pocketed it, smirking. Rory watched suspiciously.  
  
"Why did you just give Tristan five dollars?" Lorelai poured a mug of coffee and placed it in front of Rory.  
  
"No reason. How was the rest of the movie?" Lorelai asked innocently. Rory tilted her head thoughtfully.  
  
"I don't remember...maybe I fell-" Her eyes caught Tristan's, and suddenly she understood.  
  
"I fell asleep." She said slowly. Tristan nodded. "On the sofa." He nodded again, this time with a touch of a smile at the look of dawning comprehension on Rory's face. "And you, you fell asleep-"  
  
"-on the floor." Tristan finished. Rory winced inwardly. She'd fallen asleep on the floor during a few movie nights herself, and it wasn't fun.  
  
"So you spent the whole night on the floor?" Lorelai jumped in.  
  
"Nope. It gets better. He woke up at one and, instead of waking you up, he quite gallantly relinquished his bed to you and came to sleep in here. At great personal discomfort. In a chair. At the table. With his head on his arms." Rory cringed.  
  
"No need to lay it on so thick." Her cheeks began to flush with embarrassment. She turned to look at Tristan. "Why didn't you just wake me up? Now I feel guilty." Tristan shrugged, hiding his smile at her half- embarrassed, half-accusing look.  
  
"You looked comfortable." He said casually. Rory glared at him.  
  
"If you hadn't convinced me yesterday that you're actually a halfway- decent person, I would accuse you of planning this to make me feel indebted to you." Tristan placed a hand over his heart in mock-indignation.  
  
"I'm wounded, Mary. May I remind you that I spent the night in 'great personal discomfort', I think it was?" He looked at Lorelai for confirmation. She nodded.  
  
"Yep. Great personal discomfort." Rory looked back and forth between the two faces and dropped her own into her hands.  
  
"It's too early for this." Her voice was muffled. Tristan looked at her for a few moments. Her hair was adorably tousled, her cheeks still sleep-flushed.  
  
"Can I use your shower?" Lorelai waved him away.  
  
"Towels under the sink. Move the bras and stockings off the drying rack before you turn on the water or they'll get wet and we'll make you wash them." Tristan's eyes widened.  
  
"Noted." He disappeared into the bathroom, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Rory stood up to refill her coffee mug and grab a pop-tart from the plate by the toaster. She returned to the table and eyed her mother warily.  
  
"So what were you two getting so cozy about?" Lorelai grinned.  
  
"Touche. Nothing interesting." Rory looked at her doubtfully, then sighed.  
  
"I hate it when he does that. He's such a conceited brat at school, and then he pulls a stunt like this and makes me feel incredibly guilty for ever thinking of him as a jerk." Lorelai slung an arm around her daughter's shoulders and whispered conspiratorily.  
  
"Yeah, but guess what?" Rory looked at her questioningly. An excited smirk spread across Lorelai's face. "He has a motorcycle!"  
  
To Be Continued... 


	3. Part III

Author's Note: Erm. *cough* I am so sorry. It has been...I don't even know. Months. Possibly even a full year since I updated this. I apologize and hope you can forgive me. I began this story waaay back in season one ( yes, come on, let's all rewind together ) as a sort of alternate "The Third Lorelai" and it snowballed from there. Among the multitudes of post-military school Trory fics, this seems very...old. But, as this chapter has been almost complete for a long time, I decided to finish it and just see what happened. I'm still not sure whether I'll complete this fic - the way I originally planned it, I've got at least three chapters to go and I'm not sure I have the inclination to finish, particularly with school starting. But I'll think about it and hopefully reach a decision soon. I would ask for feedback, but I feel so guilty about the time lapse between chapters that I won't. *grin* But I'll still accept any and all that you happen to send my way. On to the fic!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Rory twisted slightly in her seat to face Tristan. They were about halfway to Hartford, ready to begin the twenty-four hour stretch to be spent at his house. Tristan, unaware of her eyes on him, lifted a hand from the wheel to rub the back of his neck. Rory winced.  
  
"If you'd woken me up, you wouldn't be so stiff."  
  
"If you hadn't looked so comfortable, I'd have woken you up." Tristan countered. He started to rub his neck again, but caught himself and adjusted the rear-view mirror instead. Rory dropped the subject and looked out the window at the passing scenery. She fidgeted for a few minutes before turning back to Tristan. His jaw was tight, she noticed. And he wasn't teasing her half as much as was normal. She was about to open her mouth, but Tristan swore under his breath and spun the steering wheel to the left, emitting a gasp from Rory as the car swerved. In a moment, he had the car straightened out again. Rory saw a white bobtail flipping into the woods to their right.  
  
"Sorry. Deer." Their eyes met and Rory knew they were both remembering another deer, whose bad luck to have run into a car had resulted in Rory missing a Shakespeare test and revealing her temper to her entire English class. They sat in silence for a few minutes, oddly peaceful. Then Rory remembered the question she had wanted to ask him.  
  
"Will your parents be home when we get there?" Tristan shot her a teasing look.  
  
"Why, Mary? Afraid to be alone with me?" Rory rolled her eyes, half- exasperated, half-amused.  
  
"You know what, Tristan? That's definitely it. You found me out. I have a chronic fear of blond, blue-eyed preppies." She looked out the window. The scenery was changing, the woodsy area diminishing to apartement buildings, which in turn gave way to the large, sprawling mansions of Hartford suburbia. Rory was so absorbed in the scenery that she didn't notice Tristan turning onto a private driveway. She looked at him questioningly as he parked.  
  
"We're here." Tristan opened the door and stepped out, pulling his book bag free of the backseat. Rory followed, stepping carefully out of the car, slinging her book bag over one shoulder and folding her Chilton uniform, in its protective plastic bag in her arms. She gazed, awed, at the immense house set well back from the road. Tristan noticed. "Take a picture. Lasts longer." Rory closed her mouth, slightly surprised. The tension in his voice was evident. She followed Tristan up the few steps to the front door and watched, slightly nervous, as he took out his keys and unlocked the front door. He hadn't answered her question about his parents.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Tristan pushed open the front door and held it as Rory walked inside. A quick glance to the left of the door confirmed his thoughts- the coatrack was empty. His parents had apparently gotten an early start on the day at the club. That knowledge alone allowed him to release the breath he had unconciously been holding.  
  
Rory stood a few feet in front of him, her arms crossed over her stomach. She was facing away from him, admiring a portrait on the wall, one of his parents' more recent acquistitions, so Tristan took the oppurtunity to study her. She looked completely relaxed in her jeans and v- necked purple knit shirt with overlong sleeves that almost covered her hands. Her hair was loose, held back from her face with a wide, crocheted headband.  
  
"So this is it, huh?" Tristan shrugged, dropping his small duffel bag next to the table.  
  
"Home, sweet home." He stood with his hands in the pockets of his khakis, watching her with interest as she gazed around the immense house. Finally she spoke again.  
  
"Does it come with a floor plan?" The note of awe in her voice was unmistakable. Tristan smirked.  
  
"No. But you have your very own personal tour guide. And if you're very good, he'll be your very own personal something else, too." Rory rolled her eyes in amusement.  
  
"Lucky me."  
  
"Guest room's upstairs." The words were barely out of his mouth before Rory saw a small blur fly across the room.  
  
"Twistan!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Rory's mouth dropped open. There was a small, blonde, dark eyed girl clinging to Tristan's legs. He staggered forward a few steps to regain his balance, then turned and mock-glared at the girl, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. She screamed in delight, short, slim arms locked around Tristan's neck. Rory watched, fascinated, as Tristan spun around a few times, making the girl - his sister? - shriek and squeal. After a few moments her put her down, turning her so she faced Rory. Rory could only stare. She had never imagined Tristan doing something so carefree, so relaxed, so...normal. The girl, seeing Rory for the first time, squeaked and hid behind Tristan's legs. Tristan carefully drew her out.  
  
"Uh, Rory, this is my sister Alexandra, Lexie for short. Lexie, this is Rory. She's a friend from school." Rory crouched down to the little girl's level and offered her hand.  
  
"Hi, Lexie. It's nice to meet you." Lexie slowly took Rory's hand and offered a shy smile.  
  
"Hi." Before Rory could say anything else, she had turned and skipped back into the kitchen. Tristan grinned after her and then met Rory's amused gaze.  
  
"What?" Rory shrugged.  
  
"I never pictured you as having a sibling. You always sort of had that only-child thing going on." They started up the staircase to the second floor.  
  
"I actually have three siblings. Chris is the oldest; he's twenty- seven. Then Gordie, who's twenty-three. Then me, then Lexie." Rory lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"And somewhere in between 'my birthday is September ninth' and 'my favorite book is the Mosquito Coast,' you meant to tell me this." Tristan smirked.  
  
"I should probably also mention my six dogs, nine cats, and my parokeet named Horace." Rory froze.  
  
"Tell me you're kidding."  
  
"I'm kidding." Rory resumed climbing the stairs.  
  
"I have bad parokeet memories. There was this one time when I was eight and my mother got into an arguement with Kirk's parokeet, and they began to squawk back and forth at each other so loudly that the neighbors came outside to see what was happening and before long the whole block was squawking at the parokeet or maybe my mother and you can just jump in here any time now." Tristan was staring at her.  
  
"Did you just say all that in one breath?" Rory nodded.  
  
"It's genetic." They stepped off the landing and Rory glanced around, wide-eyed, at the four corridors leading in different directions. Tristan put his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.  
  
"So do you want the that tour now, or do you want to go put your stuff away."  
  
"Room first. Then tour. This thing weighs a ton." She hefted the backpack containing her school supplies and her things for the night. Before she could object, Tristan took it out of her hand and slipped it over his shoulder. She lifted an eyebrow and he looked back at her innocently.  
  
"What, you want it back?" He started down the hall and after a moment, Rory followed him. She held in a gasp when Tristan opened the door to the guest room. The room was bigger than her own, with a queen-sized bed against the wall and a mahagony bureau and dressing table. Across the room she could see a private bathroom. She glanced at Tristan out of the corner of her eye, anticipating a smirk. Instead he was leaning against the doorframe, studying a tiny chip in the plaster. Rory walked into the room and dropped her backpack next to the bed, trying not to stare around the room. She walked back to Tristan.  
  
"Okay, tour please." They started back toward the stairs as Tristan began gesturing into various rooms and rattling off descriptions.  
  
"Guest room, guest room, closet containing miscellaneous towels, sheets, et cetera, master bedroom-" Rory caught a glimpse of an extremely large television and a circular, king-sized bed before Tristan turned left into the next corrider, "Gordie's old room, Chris's old room, Lexie's room- " Rory stopped for a moment, smiling slightly as she looked through the slightly ajar door into a room that seemed to be overflowing with various shades of pink. Pale pink walls, pink carpet, pink furniture, pink curtains, pink canopy over the pink bed. There were porcelain dolls lined up on the windowsill and an ornate dollhouse on the pink table. The room looked like a perfect ad out of a children's magazine, until Rory caught sight of something under the bed. Stepping a little way into the room, she saw what it was- a cardboard box full of grimy My Little Pony dolls, put away with the haphazard look of a forbidden item. Rory jumped when she heard Tristan's voice from over her shoulder.  
  
"She's always forgetting about the ponies." Stepping into the room, Tristan leaned down and pushed the box further under the bed, hiding it from view and restoring the room to its look of perfection. He looked up and met the Rory's confused gaze.  
  
"My mother likes our rooms neat." He turned to leave the room, to find Rory doing the same. Startled, they both backed up. Rory crossed her arms over her stomach self-consciously. "After you." She looked up sharply at Tristan's words. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the smirk on his lips at their once-again 'potential Marx brothers moment.'  
  
"You don't have to look so smug about it." He gave her a wide-eyed, 'who, me?' look. Rory rolled her eyes and went through the door, Tristan right behind her, resuming the tour.  
  
"Down that corrider are the cook's room, the housekeeper's room, and the maid's room." Rory gazed down the hall with interest.  
  
"Wow. You have servants. Do you know their names?" Tristan gave her a strange look.  
  
"I do, actually." Rory nodded approvingly.  
  
"Good. What's down there?" They started down the stairs.  
  
"The dining room, which you saw, the living room, which you saw, the parlor, which isn't worth seeing, as it's in the process of being redecorated, and the kit-" his words were lost in the stream of Spanish that floated out of the kitchen. A heavy-set woman with dark hair severely pulled back in a bun stood in the doorway.  
  
"That's Emanuela, our cook. My mother likes french maids, but Emanuela has been the Dugrey cook for twenty-five years, and my father refused to get rid out her." Tristan said softly to Rory. "Come on. Meet her." Rory stared at him, her eyes still wide with surprise. Instead of giving her time to answer, Tristan took her hand and dragged her over to the cook with all the eagerness of a little kid at Christmas. Before she knew it, Rory was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, being surveyed from head to foot by a pair of forbidding black eyes. She swallowed and linked her hands behind her back.  
  
"Hi. It's nice to meet you." Tristan translated her words into Spanish, producing a shocked look from Rory. The woman said something back, her eyes never leaving Rory, and what ensued was a rapid-fire conversation in fluent Spanish between Tristan and the cook. All of which seemed to be about her. Finally, the woman flapped a hand at Tristan, nodded regally to Rory, and went back to the pot of delicious-smelling something on the stove. Rory caught sight of Lexie seated on a stool at the counter, coloring furiously with crayons. She waved shyly and Rory waved back. She followed Tristan back out to the hall, missing the smile he hid behind a cough.  
  
"You speak Spanish." Tristan gave her an amused look.  
  
"That Chilton education is really paying off." For once, Rory ignored his comment.  
  
"When did you learn to speak Spanish?" Tristan shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.  
  
"I don't know. We all speak it- Chris and Gordie and me. We spent more time with Emanuela than with our nanny. She used to play pool with us." Rory looked at him skeptically.  
  
"Pool, huh?" Tristan gave her a mock-indignant look.  
  
"Yes, pool. We have a table in the basement. Come on." He gently pushed her through a door at the end of the hall and down the stairs into the basement. The room was dark, and Rory instinctivly put her arms out to try and get her bearings. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt Tristan's hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the left. "I just need to find the switch." She stood still, trying not to bump into anything, as Tristan finally flipped the lights.  
  
"Wow." Rory's gaze travelled over the room. In it was a pool table, pin-ball machine, and ping-pong table. There were weights in the corner and posters of cars on the walls. The room had a very masculine feel. "So I'm guessing Lexie doesn't spend a lot of time down here." Tristan put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall, watching her walk slowly around the room.  
  
"She does, actually. I'm teaching her to play pool, and she can already play pin-ball." Rory lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"She's six."  
  
"I was five."  
  
"You have two older brothers."  
  
"She has three."  
  
"Yeah, but yours were living in the same house." Tristan shrugged, conceding that the round went to her. "So what's in there?" Rory nodded toward a closed door at the back of the room. Tristan's face lit up.  
  
"I'll show you." He opened the door and held it as Rory walked through, closing it behind him. He watched in amusement as Rory's mouth dropped open. They had entered the garage. At least eight gleaming cars were parked neatly in rows. Rory walked slowly up the aisle between the rows, hands linked behind her back so as not to be tempted to touch and possibly leave finger-prints on the shining paint. She turned around, meeting Tristan's smile.  
  
"This is amazing." He shrugged.  
  
"My dad collects them. Except for that one in the corner"- he nodded toward a dark purple old-model Volkswagon Beetle. "That was from Gordie's brief stint as a hippie."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So which one's yours?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, Rory was filled with regret. A small, sardonic grin was forming on Tristan's lips. He nodded toward the left Rory cautiously followed his gaze. There, parked in the shadows where she hadn't looked before, stood a motorcycle. Swallowing, she met Tristan's gaze. He dangled the keys in front of her face. His eyes were laughing.  
  
"So, what do you say, Mary? Wanna go for a ride?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Rory swallowed, glancing at the motorcycle. It seemed to be growing bigger and scarier by the moment. Not about to be outdone, she nodded.  
  
"Sure." She watched the shock spread across Tristan's face.  
  
"Did you just say sure?" Rory linked her hands behind her back and gave him a wide-eyed look.  
  
"Why not? I rode my dad's last time he visited." She watched a smirk spread across his face as he tossed her a spare helmet and settled his own on his head. He opened the garage door by remote and straddled the bike, lifting an eyebrow as Rory stood uncertainly, teetering on the brink of backing out. Unable to help herself, she glanced at Tristan. His face said clearly that he didn't expect her to go through with it. That made up her mind. Rory lifted her chin and took quick steps toward him, straddling the bike before she could lose her nerve.  
  
Tristan took a quick breath at the feeling of Rory pressed against his back, her hands tentatively holding the back of his shirt. He reached around and took her hands, bringing them around his sides. Rory felt his stomach muscles flex as her arms settled around his waist. She felt him start the engine as the bike throbbed beneath her, involuntarily burying her face in the back of his jacket, squeezing her eyes shut as he took off out onto the road.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
After a few minutes, the motion of the bike smoothed out and Rory opened her eyes. The wind whipped her hair in front of her face, and the road flashed past with dizzying speed. Involuntarily Rory tightened her arms around Tristan's waist, feeling his sharp sigh even through the several layers of clothing. The sun was peeking from behind a cloud, and Rory closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean against Tristan's back and sway to the rhythm of the motorcycle. She was so relaxed that she almost missed the sign at the place where Tristan turned. Hartford Country Club, founded 1956. Rory felt all her unease come flowing back, and from the sudden tension in his body, Tristan felt it also. Rory sat up a little straighter and loosened her grip as Tristan brought the bike to a stop.  
  
Rory jumped off as soon as they came to a halt, almost tripping in her haste to get away from Tristan. She couldn't believe how comfortable she'd felt riding the motorcycle. She looked back at it shakily. Now that she was safe on the ground, it looked twice as big and scary as it had before. Tristan was still sitting on it, his head cocked to the side, expression hidden behind the helmet that he had yet to take off. That was another thing. Not only had she ridden on a motorcycle, she'd ridden on Tristan's motorcycle. With Tristan. She really wished he'd take the helmet off, so she could see his eyes. Almost as if he'd read her mind, Tristan pulled off the helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in spikes.  
  
"You look pale." His sudden remark caught her off guard.  
  
"Charming as ever."  
  
"Ouch. I meant to ask if you're okay. It came out wrong."  
  
"I'm fine. It just looks bigger from the ground."  
  
"You ride like a natural." Rory flushed slightly. Tristan noticed.  
  
"Oh, for God's sake-Rory, it really is difficult for you to accept that not everything that comes out of my mouth is about sex, isn't it?" His exasperated tone made her lash out.  
  
"It's not like you've given me a whole lot of reason to assume otherwise."  
  
"Bullshit. I didn't say one suggestive thing yesterday." Rory lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"'You own something leopard print? Gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you.'"  
  
"You asked for that." Rory flushed with anger.  
  
"Excuse me?" Tristan stepped closer to her. His eyes were bright with a mixture of impatience and frustration.  
  
"What the hell am I supposed to think, Rory? You do stuff like cuddle next to me on piano benches and lean against me on motorcycles, and then you think I'm out of line for making a suggestive remark!" His words hung between them for a moment, the tension at a breaking point. Her face stone, Rory turned, intending to walk away from an infuriating situation which left her with a lot to think about. She got about three steps before she heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Rory, darling!" Emily Gilmore was crossing the lawn.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Rory felt her face freeze. A hundred wild thoughts ran through her head before she blocked them out and pasted a bright smile on her face. She didn't dare turn to look at Tristan.  
  
"Grandma! What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded weak and strained to her own ears, but Emily didn't seem to notice. She gave Rory a light kiss on the cheek, a perfectly cultured smile on her face.  
  
"I'm here for my Wildlife Conservation meeting, Rory, we always meet at the Club. The restaurant has a full vegetarian menu and they always recycle. Rory, I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend here." Rory's voice, already tenously high-pitched, froze in her throat. Tristan stepped in smoothly.  
  
"Tristan Dugrey. It's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Gilmore. My grandfather speaks highly of your husband." Emily smiled delightedly.  
  
"A Dugrey! Rory, why didn't you tell me you had such esteemed friends? Janlen has told Richard so much about you, Tristan. He says you're the future of the company." Tristan smiled charmingly. Rory, temporarily on the sidelines, watched with shock. Everything was perfect. His smile, his laugh, his expression, the way he held himself. Tristan looked so normal, but just a few moments before she had seen anger and frustration in his eyes. She could barely force out three words, an octave higher than usual, and he already had her grandmother charmed.  
  
-must join us for lunch, Rory, you and Tristan both." Rory blinked, yanked out of her thoughts.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said that you and Tristan must join us for lunch, Rory, the other ladies will be delighted to see you- Rory? Rory, are you feeling all right?"  
  
"No, no, Grandma, I'm fine. So, lunch, okay," Rory said weakly. Her grandmother smiled.  
  
"Lovely. I'll go tell the other women you'll be joining us. You can meet us in the restaurant in ten minutes." She was already striding purposefully across the lawn. Rory watched her go with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She and Tristan stood is an extremely tense silence for several seconds.  
  
"Rory." Relieved that he had spoken first, Rory turned to look at Tristan. His face was blank, his hands in his back pockets. "We should call a truce for lunch. No mentions of innuendo, motorcycles, pianos, etc." While she was relieved that they wouldn't be silently battling over lunch, Rory didn't miss his implication.  
  
"And what, we finish battling it out after we've finished our tea and crumpets and the ladies are safely out of view?"  
  
"I agree. We'll resolve it at a time where there is no public humiliation involved. Considering this is a fairly personal matter, I assumed you didn't want to argue about it with your grandmother leaning over your shoulder." Rory couldn't read anything in his expression. Her mother got that look sometimes, too. She supposed it was the upper-class training.  
  
"All right. Truce."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Lunch passed in a haze of strained smiles, answering question after question from the mostly-well-intended women, and listening to Tristan sounding entirely natural and charming at the other end of the table. Emily had situated them so that Rory was sandwiched in between herself and Mrs. Beaumont, the president of the Wildlife Society. Tristan was at the other end of the table, next to a woman he seemed to know as one of his mother's friends, and across from a an elderly man, husband of one of the ladies, who appeared to be falling asleep in his key lime pie. After what seemed like hours of mind-numbing chitchat, Emily and her fellow society- members excused themselves, and Rory and Tristan were left to what seemed like their hundredth awkward silence. As beautiful as the grounds of the club were, Rory wanted to go back to her room, find a good book, and forget any feelings she ever had toward Tristan Dugrey.  
  
"Maybe we should just go back." Rory looked up, startled. It was like he'd read her mind.  
  
"Um, sure." They walked slowly across the lawn and stopped before the motorcycle. Rory closed her eyes for a moment to stop the sudden resurging memory of her body pressed tightly against Tristan's back. "Is there any way we could get home without the bike?" she asked tensely. Tristan gazed at her for several seconds, and then nodded.  
  
"There's a garage here. We can take my Lexus and I'll pick up the bike tomorrow."  
  
"I think that would be a good idea." Tristan led her quickly behind the main building to the parking lot on the basement level. They wove through rows of cars and Rory noted the presence of more BMWs, Mercedes, and Porsches in this one room than she had ever seen in her life. Tristan stopped beside a low-slung silver convertible and opened the door for Rory. She climbed in and smoothed invisible creases from her jeans. Instead of getting in, however, Tristan leaned in the driver's side window.  
  
"Let me go find someone to move my bike in here and we'll go." He walked off before she could say anything. Rory folded her hands in her lap, nervous about touching any of the electronic devices in front and breaking something. Her hands were clammy and after debating for a moment, she gingerly opened the glove compartiment, half-expecting an alarm to go off. When none did, she opened it all the way and felt inside for a napkin or kleenex. Rather than napkins, her fingers brushed a small cardboard box that fell out as she withdrew her hand, landing on the seat and spilling condoms out onto the floor.  
  
Rory's head snapped up, immediatly looking for Tristan. He wasn't in sight yet, so she leaned over and replaced the small foil-wrapped packages in their box, putting it back in the glove compartiment and returning to her previous state of cold clamminess, this time with a dry throat to go with it. Why did it surprise her so much that Tristan kept an almost-empty box of condoms in his glove compartiment? She'd known his reputation before she'd ever met him- the first bit of gossip she heard as an official Chilton student was that Tristan Dugrey had slept with Angela Price in one of the spare rooms at a party on Saturday night.  
  
Rory closed her eyes and forced her mind blank, mentally reciting the release dates of all of Shakespeare's plays, and then the periodic table. She was somewhere around Cobalt when Tristan finally came back and got into the car, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. They spent the ride in almost total silence, Tristan concentrating on the road and Rory staring blanking out the window. It seemed like hours before they finally reached the Dugrey house. They continued up the driveway in a silence which held until Rory got inside and halfway up the stairs.  
  
"Where are you going?" Rory answered him without stopping or turning around.  
  
"To my room." She heard Tristan's feet coming up the stairs behind her.  
  
"We didn't finish talking." Rory increased her pace.  
  
"I think we did, Tristan." They were at the landing, and Rory started down the hallway. Tristan grabbed her arm.  
  
"Did we, Rory? Why is it so hard to give me a chance?" Rory wrenched her arm out of his grip.  
  
"Because every time I try, you get smug and smirky and infringe on my personal space and I wonder why I even bother trying to be your friend!"  
  
"That's not what I want to be to you, Rory. We're not cut out to be friends." He could see a hint of confusion in her eyes as well as a lot of fear. He could also see one of the maids cleaning a room at the end of the hallway. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her into his father's study and shut the door behind them. When he turned around, Rory was glaring at him.  
  
"Oh, really great, Tristan. Talking wasn't working, so you figured you'd grab me and drag me back to your cave. Way to prove your maturity." Tristan crossed his arms.  
  
"For one thing, it's my father's 'cave', thank you so much, and how was talking supposed to work when you won't give me a chance to have a serious conversation with you?" Rory jerked away from him, eyes flashing.  
  
"I have given you chances, Tristan, but everytime I think we're getting somewhere you say something that makes me supremely uncomfortable and I forget why I thought it was worth the effort!" Tristan advanced on her quickly.  
  
"You know what I think, Rory? I think you don't mind me teasing you half as much as you say you do. I think you're trying to find reasons to push me away, so you don't have to make any decisions about this...this...thing between us!" Rory was backing away just as quickly as he was moving forward, getting angrier by the moment.  
  
"I hardly have to go looking for reasons to push you away! You constantly tease me, you twist the meaning of everything I say, just being seen with you makes people whisper that I'm your latest conquest-" With a slight thud, her back hit the wall and Tristan stopped, a few inches away from her. For a long moment they stared at each other, the scant space between them prickling with electricity. When Tristan spoke, his voice was low.  
  
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I might actually like you? That I might be trying to change, trying to be whatever it is you want me to be? Why is it so hard for you to just give me a chance to make you happy?" His voice dropped a little at the last few words, and a little bit of the tension between them eased. They stood still, almost touching, though Tristan made no move to box her in further. She met his eyes and found that she couldn't look away. Suddenly she thought of Dean, and of how he had never made her feel like this, had never made her so scared or so angry, and a part of her wanted that security back very badly. And yet-  
  
"I can't give you a chance because I don't know how you could make me happy. I don't know what I want!" Tearing her gaze from his eyes, Rory pushed past Tristan's chest, intent on getting through the door and out of this room. She realized suddenly that she didn't have any idea how to get back to her bedroom - it didn't matter, anywhere in the world would be better than here in this room.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"I can't give you a chance because I don't know how you could make me happy. I don't know what I want!" Tristan stared at her, open-mouthed, as she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away, causing him to stumble backwards, off balance. At the last second, idiotically afraid that if she got through the door he would never see her again, Tristan grabbed a handful of her sleeve and pulled her down with him. They landed on his father's deep-seated black leather sofa. Tristan sat sprawled against the arm, and Rory fell forward, landing with one knee on either side of Tristan's hips, hands thrown out to brace herself against the back of the sofa. Tristan's hands came immediately up to steady her, cradling her waist. For a split second, they stayed that way, breath caught in their chests, and then Rory, realizing with a burning face that they were bare inches apart, tried to move away. Tristan's hands on her hips kept her in place.  
  
"What do you think-" she started furiously, but she stopped at the look on his face. His eyes locked with hers, and her breath stopped in her throat.  
  
"Wait." He let go of her hips, trusting her not to move. Not taking his eyes from hers, he took her hand and moved it from the back of the couch, placing a light butterfly kiss on the inside of her wrist.  
  
"What are you doing?" A part of her was screaming for her to pull away, but she was frozen.  
  
"Rory- I'm showing you what you want." The silence of the room was deafening. Rory's eyes darted around, noting the heavy mahogany furniture and rack of expensive pens on the desk. There was a family portrait on the wall, and she looked away before she could pick out Tristan from the three tall, blond figures. She looked back at him, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. In the quiet of the room, she could hear the soft exhale of his breath, and she could almost imagine the beating of his heart. Slowly, trying not to startle her, Tristan leaned forward and brushed his lips over her collar bone. Rory closed her eyes, pushing her thoughts out of her head as Tristan lightly kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. His lips slid up the side of her neck, dropping another kiss just below her ear. Rory tilted her head to the side, letting her hair graze his forehead. Her ears were roaring, her fingertips numb as Tristan brushed a kiss over her chin, and then over each of her cheekbones. Her head swam as she felt the brief burn of his lips on her forehead, and on the tip of her nose, and finally, on each of her closed eyelids. She waited, heart pounding, for the next touch of his mouth, but it didn't come. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Tristan's face was just inches from hers, his breath coming quickly.  
  
"Your move, Rory." Squeezing her eyes shut, and half-heartedly praying that she wasn't making a terrible mistake, Rory leaned forward and lightly touched his mouth with hers.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Tristan forced himself to pull away after dropping a last kiss on her eyelid. He watched, heart thumping, as she opened her eyes and stared at him.  
  
"Your move, Rory." He forced the words out throught a thick throat. Praying that she wouldn't pull away, he stayed perfectly still as her lips gently touched his own. They stayed like that for just a moment, barely touching, before her mouth opened over his and he tugged hard on her hips. Her knees relaxed and she sat down in his lap, sliding forward until she was flush against his chest. Her arms left the sofa and twined around his neck as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip. His hands cradled her hips, sliding around her waist and tracing circles on her back.  
  
Rory could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Kissing Dean had never been like this. Kissing Dean had been sweet and soft and smooth and had left her lightheaded. This was- not soft. Not even sweet so much as it was intoxicating. She tentatively touched Tristan's tongue with her own and felt, more than heard, him gasp. Lungs burning for air, she gently broke away, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He dropped his face into her hair with a slight sigh. Breathing hard, they stayed like that for several minutes, wondering the same thing.  
  
Now what do we do? 


End file.
